


700 Feet Down

by Vana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: ASoIaF Kink Meme, M/M, sorry for your life jon snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/pseuds/Vana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’d have to have a heart of stone, a cock the size of Varys’, a stomach for violence like an Unsullied soldier not to be tempted by the tousled black hair, the large grey eyes, the plump red lips, the lilting voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	700 Feet Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IrisParry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisParry/gifts).



> This was for the prompt: "Jon/Stannis: Begging." Written a ways back, but it's time for these to find their permanent home so I don't keep losing them in LJ-land! Written back in maybe February or March.

You’d have to have a heart of stone, a cock the size of Varys’, a stomach for violence like an Unsullied soldier not to be tempted by the tousled black hair, the large grey eyes, the plump red lips, the lilting voice. The lips that were always invitingly half-open, as if they could not quite get a breath; the hair that would fall unruly across the forehead; the eyes wide in entreaty and clouded over with lust or confusion. And the voice, low and rough and anything but calm, shivering under the heavy furs.  

“Please, I don’t care, you can pretend I’m him, you can do whatever you used to do ... Just ...”

“Just _what_ , Jon Snow?”

“Just _anything_ , anything you want. I’ll ... I’ll suck you off, I’ll let you fuck me, right on this table I’ll do it ...”

“But will you call me your king?”

“When you’re fucking me, or—”

He refused to take the bait. “Then and ever after.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want, you can call me anything, his name ...”

“I wouldn’t grace you with his name” — spitting the words out.

“I’m sorry, Lo— King Stannis — my king,” more desperate now, what was _wrong_ with the boy? Surely his steward, or one of those soft-looking recruits that trailed after him, could ... but no, Jon Snow had to do things the hard way, for both of them. He could see Snow’s breath in the air, hands clenched at his sides, his face that of a starving man. He had gotten his courage from somewhere after months of staring bleakly at Stannis, stalking around the Wall with that look in his eye and that curved mouth frowning and open and ready. The way he brushed past him when they were alone bespoke a need that had been growing and building, and the look in his eyes now as he begged Stannis to take him any way he wanted just served to confirm it. “You are my king. You will always be my king. I want you to take me — my king — have me any way you like it — but please, soon. Just. Please.”

You’d have to not be possessed of a cock. You’d have to have innards of steel.

You’d have to have a heart of rock to ignore him.

But Stannis was bitter ice, frozen steel, torn parchment rent under the claws of some accursed raven that carried news beyond the bearing. And his heart? He almost laughed. 

There were names in the south for people who had suffered and screamed as long as he had and still, mercilessly, stalked the land. There were names for the ones who lived without living, whose light had gone out but who still walked, draped in their darkness.

He turned away from the Stark bastard. Stannis’ heart was stone now, and it would never again be moved.


End file.
